Insanity is Love, Madness is Reason
by Vytina
Summary: The world disappeared, vanished entirely as they both spiraled into that dark, blissful abyss of madness…insanity…and love. And they would keep spiraling. Together. Forever.


**A/N: This is a quick one-shot I wrote for Iris and Jonathan Crane. Set during Crane's days as a professor at the university. The song used is "While Your Lips are Still Red" by Nightwish. If you haven't heard the song before, check it out. Beautiful melody. Enjoy!**

* * *

Insanity is Love, Madness is Reason

It was a quiet night. Not the sort of silence that usually preceded some feeling of impending doom or terror, but a soft, almost melodic silence that only certain people could appreciate. As one might be able to understand, the people who truly understood and embraced this silence were not the raucous lot whose only real purpose in life was to act like a driveling stampede of imbecilic cretins every time the day ended. No, this solitude and quiet was only appreciated by a select few in this world. These were the people who not only embraced the quiet and stillness of the evening, but in the back of their mind, they might go so far as to almost worship the solitude. After all, in this poor, pitiful world, such peace was a scarce treasure that, because it was so often trampled upon and taken for granted, should be handled like fine crystal glass. And because there was at least one person in such a world who would treat silence with the reverence it deserved, it would continue to grace those few with its blessings.

Jonathan Crane had grown to become one of those select few.

As a child, any sort of silence certainly foreshadowed impeding terror. But now, as a reserved professor of psychology at Gotham State University, the silence was a most welcome distraction from the dullness of his classroom. In this blessed silence, he could sit and delve into a lovely world where the depraved insanity of reality held no power.

"Professor?"

Dark eyes slowly rose from the small print covering old and well-read pages of _Completed Works of Edgar Allen Poe_. Normally, he would be less than pleased at his brief evening of silence interrupted. But he knew the voice of his unexpected visitor all too well, and this familiarity spared his guest from enduring his wrath. "Miss DeLaine," he said, standing to greet her, "To what do I owe this very late and unexpected surprise?"

"If you're busy…I can come back later," she whispered.

"Not necessary," he said, gesturing with a free hand to the armchair, "Please…sit."

Almost immediately, he sensed there was something very wrong with her. The alert should have already been present at the tone of her voice. She was a very assertive and confident young woman, and to hear her whisper was a rarity in itself. But for her to whisper in such a timid, almost child-like tone…in fact, now that he looked closely at her body, which hadn't moved from its place in his doorway, even her posture was that of a child. She was leaning against the polished wood frame, arms looped loosely around her tall and thin form; her head hung low, hair covering her face entirely like a thick veil. Everything about her was reminiscent of a child preparing itself to be severely, even harshly, scolded and punished. Something was very wrong indeed.

"Miss DeLaine?" he tried again, taking a step toward her and frowning when she shrank away, her arms tightening their hold around her nearly skeletal figure, "Please…sit."

"I won't stay long," she spoke in the same frightened tone, "I only had a question…"

"Of course," he said pleasantly, "You know I am always happy to answer your questions, child."

Her head raised a bit, not enough to bring her appearance into the light, but enough so he could see the whites of her eyes catch a tiny flicker of the firelight illuminating from the hearth, "Is…is the world naturally cruel…or did I do something wrong…?"

The book fell from limp fingers with a soft _thud_ to the carpeted floor. Somehow, her question had prompted the dark-haired teen to step into the revealing glow of light. Her clothes were in tatters; the skirt had been ripped and clawed at, and the shirt wasn't even intact anymore. She had been forced to hold it over her chest with one hand, and her other arm was keeping a safe guard over the skirt, just in case the fragile threads straining to keep it together fell apart. She had at some point been wearing shoes, but no longer, as her feet were cut and bloody from ankle to toe. Ugly bruises and hideous swelling had discolored her arms black, red, and an unpleasant shade of purple. Cuts of all shapes and sizes dotted her entire body; there didn't appear to be a single area that hadn't been maimed.

She swayed alarmingly, falling limply against his chest and into expectant arms. He carefully tilted her face up to meet his gaze, taking note of the dullness in her eyes.

"It's alright," he said soothingly, guiding her to sit upon the couch. He left for the briefest moment, only to return with a small box of bandages and anesthetic. He always kept it in a drawer under his desk, for emergencies only. He hadn't come upon such an occasion until tonight, so it was stocked full. He was privately thankful for this, because by the look of it, he was going to need every last bandage he had.

A little under an hour later, the professor was standing before the fireplace, hands clasped tightly behind his back, eyes boring into the depths of flickering flames to search for answers…answers to questions he really didn't want to ask. And he was even less inclined to know the answers. Seeing his best student in that mutilated, beaten, humiliating state brought back too many memories. Memories he would rather be left undisturbed. But he knew that look in her eyes all too well. It was the same look he had always held in his own eyes…and there were none in his life to care.

_Sweet little words made for silence not talk  
Young heart for love not heartache  
_

His gaze drifted away from the fireplace to the small adjacent room in which his student was now redressing. It was nothing truly suitable for a woman such as herself—merely a white cotton shirt he'd fetched from his own closet. He knew already it would be much too large for her, but at least it would cover her a bit…though not completely, come to think of it. He knew it would suffice for the arms and torso…but it might not cover her legs…which would leave those leanly sculpted plains of white skin open and exposed…

_Dark hair for catching the wind  
Not to veil the sight of a cold world  
_

He mentally berated himself. Now was not the time for those thoughts. The poor girl was already traumatized as it was; bringing such fantasies up from the darker depths of his mind, where they _belonged_ was not an option. But lately, those thoughts were getting harder and harder to resist. But he had to stay focused. What had happened between them a month ago in that bar…that was in the past and needed to stay in the past. He had told himself this over and over again in the time that had passed since that night, but it didn't make the thoughts vanish entirely. The memories were still there…memories of soft lips pressed to his in a sweet, innocent fashion—a kiss of someone who held no true experience with men. Bare skin pressed against bare skin, each body sharing its warmth with the other…breathless words echoing in his ears like some sacred muse…the feel of her…the sounds…the taste…

_Kiss while your lips are still red  
While he's still silent  
Rest while bosom is still untouched, unveiled_

The door opened, bare feet treading carefully upon crimson carpet. His eyes opened slowly to look at her, an action he very quickly regretted. The shirt did cover the thin, narrow torso, but the hem fell just short of mid-thigh. Those long, colt-like legs were completely exposed, every scar burning a pale red upon white flesh in flickering light. The thin material of the cloth hung limp to her partially dry body, but even hanging so loosely to her body, the clothing left little to the imagination.

But the look in her eyes captured him the most.

_Drown into eyes while they're still blind  
Love while the night still hides the withering dawn  
_

There was something completely different about her eyes this time. That was not to say her eyes hadn't caught his attention before. No, she was _always_ captivating. The shimmer of her laugh that sparkled in those vibrant blue pools when she smiled; the flash of anger when she was irate or frustrated; the feathery shadows cast over her eyes by her eyelashes when she closed her eyes, even for the briefest moment.

But not tonight.

_First day of love never comes back  
A passionate hour's never a wasted one_

There was a look to her eyes that he had never seen before. It was a broken dullness that hurt to look at for any period of time. She was looking at him with a reverence that burned…and he couldn't look away. He didn't look away as he stood from the soft cushions of the couch, and he didn't look away as his hand slowly rose from his side to beckon her to him.

And she obeyed.

_The violin, the poet's hand  
Every thawing heart plays your theme with care_

This was power like he had never experience before. He had often heard that power was the downfall of all men, for they succumbed too easily to its temptation. Jonathan Crane had very often resisted temptation, something he prided himself on. But tonight, temptation had taken the form of something he could not resist—something he_ would not_ resist. The power he was holding over her was intoxicating…deliciously sinful. This could very easily be his downfall from henceforth, and if it was, he would welcome that downward spiral into that abyss called _**madness**_.

_Kiss while your lips are still red  
While he's still silent  
Rest while bosom is still untouched, unveiled_

The next thing he was aware of was the crushing, suffocating kiss he forced upon her, a vicious attack which she quickly succumbed to. She had not even put up any sort of defense for herself, just welcomed the blitz attack like one welcomes the dawn of a new day. One arm snaked around her waist, keeping her upright in a firm hold, else she would have fallen to her knees with the sheer blow of his kiss. Persuading her to move on the couch was child's play; she was a puppet on his strings, and he could make her move anyway he pleased. His eyes closed, allowing his other senses to revel in the feel of her body stretched out beneath his, a willing creation of pure and complete perfection…all his.

_Hold another hand while the hand's still without a tool  
Drown into eyes while they're still blind  
Love while the night still hides the withering dawn  
_

Her hands pressed into his clothed skin, long fingers raking down the smooth length of his back and finding their way just beneath the waist of his pants. Nails bit into skin as the shirt was cleanly yanked from the constraints of his pants. She didn't even think about opening the buttons, just pulled the whole thing over his head and threw it aside. A soft moan escaped his mouth as she spread warm kisses across his chest and down his stomach. His fingers tightened into the cushions as the warmth of her tongue retraced the path her lips had just made.

"Iris…" the name was a broken, breathless whisper from his lips, followed by a quiet moan of protest as her lips left his skin. He slowly looked down at her, dark eyes pitch black with simmering lust. Her fingers drifted up to the top button on the borrowed shirt, slowly opening it, then the others followed suit, letting the shirt fall apart on her body. He reached out, touching her bandaged torso reverently, yet there was a possessive air to his touch that made her shiver slightly. A smile twisted his lips.

"Relax…" he crooned, lips against her ear, "Relax, my child…I won't hurt you…."

_Kiss while your lips are still red  
While he's still silent  
Rest while bosom is still untouched, unveiled  
_

She moaned softly as his mouth left her ear, pressing deep, burning kisses upon her throat. The path continued downward, until he reached the smooth junction of her hips.

"Wait," he looked up at her soft command just before her lips were on his, kissing him ravenously. The unexpected force she put into the kiss sent him on his back, gasping ever so quietly as his student straddled his hips. The shirt slid down, pooling around the bend of her elbows and the narrow concave of her hips. His eyes darkened at the desirable image before him.

_Hold another hand while the hand's still without a tool  
Drown into eyes while they're still blind  
Love while the night still hides the withering dawn_

"Iris…" this time, her name was a dark growl of both raw lust and passion. He could see her relishing the sound of it for a moment, then their lips crashed together once more. Hands sought out the patches of skin that would conceive the breathless moans, the quivering of desire that made both bodies writhe helpless to the other's touch. Clothing was peeled away, skin opened to hungry eyes and skilled touches. He twisted his body, pinning her fiercely into the cushions. No words were spoken, save the breathless gasps that somehow turned into each other's names. Both bodies moved effortlessly with each other, fingers digging into skin to leave deep marks…hearts pounding violently against each other. Movement became quick, erratic, without any sort of thought involved at all. The world disappeared, vanished entirely as they both spiraled into that dark, blissful abyss of madness…insanity…and love.

And they would keep spiraling.

Together.

Forever.


End file.
